


The Bindings of Fate

by itsjustliah



Series: Bound by Fate [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsjustliah/pseuds/itsjustliah
Summary: The Warrior of Light has finally had enough of her fate. When she finally reaches her limit, she finds herself seeking out the only other person as plagued by their own fate as she is -- the Crystal Exarch.





	1. The First Night

For all her years of adventuring, the Warrior of Light had never felt so lost.

Since the beginning, there had been no question about the path she had to follow. Go here. Help there. Ask her. Follow him. Find this. Defeat that.

Even when her world had grown larger, more complex, and far too complicated, her next steps were always known to her. There was no doubt in her mind. She would carry on. She would survive. Her power was her strength, and her strength was the world's boon. She was the hero of Eorzea. The Warrior of Light.

The fame had never bothered her. Indeed, most people didn't know what she looked like, so aside from the stories others told her in taverns and traveling caravans, her fame was nothing but a whisper on the breeze. No matter the deities she slew, the lands she liberated, the wars she began and ended, there was always some degree of distance between her self and the legends that grew grander and more weighty by the day.

But there was nowhere to hide in the First.

Even if she had wanted to hide, there was no time. From the moment she arrived, she was known. Hells, she was celebrated before even having accomplished any deeds of renown, simply because she came from the same mystical place he did. Her presence alone sparked a wildfire of whispers and obtuse speculation. No matter the story, the conclusion was always the same-- no matter who she was, she would save them all.

The pressure was upon her before she knew how to manage it. So, too, was an entirely new world. At least in the Source, she had heard of her fantastic destinations before, whether through rumors heard in the streets, tidbits of knowledge shared by the Scions, or stories told in old, musty tomes. Here, everything was new, from the lands and the peoples to the plants in the foreign earth and the insects in the odd-scented air, all so familiar yet so wholly alien.

She traversed it, regardless. She had no choice. Despite her inner turmoil, there was a path to follow. Comrades to find. Civilians to save. Evils to be defeated. Horrors to witness. What once seemed so easy now felt unbearable under the weight of the new world--

But she could not be weak. She could not rest, not when the eyes of every man, woman, and child were upon her back. There was no doubt in their minds. She would save them all.

So when they asked her to open herself to the beastly Light and become its vessel, she responded with a nod. After all, it was her fate. Only she could undertake this burden. If not her, then whom? The path was there. She walked it all the same, without pausing, without stumbling, even as the horrid swelling of Light within her threatened to tear her apart.

And yet, she had the gall to feel anger towards the Exarch -- G'raha. Her old friend, older still to him. At first, she assumed it was because he had been there that entire time and not revealed himself, but it wasn't betrayal that weighed upon her so heavily. It was the thought that all her suffering and sacrifice would have been for nothing, had he taken the accursed Light from her.

It was, in part, the fact that her suffering would not come to an end.

Those thoughts plagued her even as she was flanked by her closest friends, rallying behind her and encouraging her to see her journey to the end. They would give their lives to see her strength swell and grow. There was no doubt in their minds. With or without them, she would save them all.

The Warrior had assumed these many weights would vanish upon the Ascian's defeat, upon the return of night to the broken world of the First. They did not, only proving that despite years of slaying deities and traversing the rift, she was no wiser than the day she first took up the profession. She should have known she'd have to come back to the First. The Scions would have need of her. The First would have need of her. The Exarch-- G'raha, the accursed fool-- would have need of her, too.

What I wouldn't give to be redundant, she thought, pressing her palm to her forehead. Despite the return of night, the evening air that wafted through the windows of the Pendants was still warm and humid. Her mind told her it was summer, but her heart understood it to be something else. Vestiges of the Light that had flooded the land. Remnants of the foul substance the world had forced her to harbor for so long.

She was too afraid to admit that without it, she felt empty. It wasn't that she longed to have it within her again; no, she wouldn't wish it upon her worst enemy, not even him. Perhaps it was simply because she had been so full of the damned stuff, every waking moment a step across the tightrope between whole and bursting apart. Perhaps it was because her companions, even while reassuring her they were by her side, had silently and subconsciously taken five steps away from her. At any moment, she could be gone, worse than gone, the exact opposite of what she was supposed to be, and for some cruel reason, that thought, too, brought her comfort.

And so, tonight, for the first time in who knew how many moons, she found herself in her cups. She didn't even have to ask for the wine. There was a new bottle on the table when she returned each night, a physical manifestation of the attention that she could never shake. Drinking the entire bottle in one go felt like an escape. Like spitting in the faces of everyone who had hopes for her. It felt good, and that was before the alcohol kicked in.

Now that it had, she was feeling doubly good. Just the thought of the Warrior of Light -- no, the Warrior of Darkness -- drunk, red-faced, and stumbling through her luxurious room like some middle-aged man being sent home from the tavern two bells past midnight-- brought a wicked smile to her lips. She found one of her many mirrors and stared at the reflection: disheveled hair, reddening eyes and cheeks, and the slightest sway to her posture. It was strangely comforting, and with the turmoil she'd been clawing through all night, she would take what comfort she could get.

That comfort would not last long, unfortunately. Just being in the shadow of that accursed Tower brought her thoughts to darker places. It didn't have to be like this. She frowned, her teeth clenched. If they hadn't known who I was-- if he hadn't sung my praises so loudly, or worshipped the ground I walked on, if he--

She pulled away from the mirror. Whether it was her unrestrained anger, the alcohol, or both, she had made up her mind.

She was going to tell G'raha Tia exactly what she was thinking.

* * *

Perhaps it was the slight breeze that drifted through the Crystarium’s open plazas, or the fleeting glances of the citizenry she passed as she walked, but as she stalked out of the Pendants and towards the Ocular, the Warrior felt her rage begin to soften and ebb.

Maybe she was being selfish about all of this. After all, hadn’t he experienced the same hardships she was? Worse, even. The Exarch’s mysterious robes were a necessity, what with a good quarter of his body crystallized and alien. If she stuck out like a sore thumb, then he stuck out like, well, a tower upon the plains. One could have argued that refusing to take up that mantle -- quite literally, in his case -- would have caused even more trouble for him than the mystery that came with hiding his skin and face.

Then, of course, there was his own accursed fate. His own slavery to birthright. Not only that, but the fate he had accepted upon himself, eons later, when the world came to him for help. He’d endured countless decades of leadership, of fighting a war that must have seemed hopeless. How could she curse her fate when he had accepted his so whole-heartedly, without any of the remorse she was feeling now?

She supposed she could forgive him, then, for singing her praises as loudly as he had for the last century. Perhaps it was the only way he could redirect their attention.

He would understand, then, yes? Her steps slowed just enough for her to catch the glances of a few wandering Mystel. They murmured as she passed. If I told him everything, he’d understand?

He seemed so satisfied with his lot in life, though. Every time they’d met, he was happy. Joyful, even in the face of dire straits and despair. Sometimes it was infectious. Sometimes it was downright baffling. Either way, he certainly seemed to have accepted his role in the world.

Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, then.

Despite the sudden onset of uncertainty, her traitorous feet had still taken her all the way up to the ocular, past the guards, and into the winding halls of the Exarch's private chambers.

Perhaps it would be good to see him anyway. They had been friends a long time ago. They still were, weren't they? He wouldn't turn her away just for being a little drunk. If she opened up to him, he'd hear her out. No need to feel nervous, then... though what if it were a disaster? She was well-equipped to handle disasters of a more otherworldly kind, but if her current state soured her dusty friendship with the Exarch, she wasn't sure what she'd do. The longer she walked down the hallway, the heavier her body felt. Maybe she shouldn't have downed the entire bottle of wine as quickly as she had.

Best to turn around, then, she thought, as her drunk hand rapped at the door to the Exarch's study. She blinked, noticing what she'd done a fraction of a second too late. Her head swiveled towards the direction from which she'd come. The hallway offered no hiding places, and in her condition, she certainly wasn't quick or sure-footed enough to disappear out of sight before the shuffling sounds on the other side of the door were more than just sounds.

It was too late. The doorknob rattled, the crystalline portal opened, and disaster indeed struck.

* * *

The Exarch, fortunately, was not plagued with thoughts of doubt, even despite the mountain of work that had been thrust upon him with the return of night. Items that had seemed trivial when the world was on the brink of being consumed by Light were now demanding his attention, from resolving political struggles in crucial farmsteads to coordinating expeditions into newly inhabitable areas. And then, of course, there was the problems caused by the rapidly-shifting economy, of which he was hopelessly lacking in practical knowledge. Luckily, there were well-learned merchants and academics who were quick to come to his aid, but each issue they resolved seemed to spawn a dozen more. For now, he focused on the basics: the citizens of the Crystarium and the surrounding areas needed to be able to eat, drink, and sustain themselves. Thankfully, he had plenty of experience coordinating those efforts -- a century's worth, give or take.

A century, he thought. To think I've lived so long.

The path his life had taken still managed to surprise him sometimes, even after living it for so long. At times, it felt so right and natural, yet there were others, near the beginning, when he found himself longing for the simpler life he'd left behind -- though had it really been that simple? He wondered.

Those feelings had changed when his labors finally began to bear fruit -- even when he'd jumped too far into the past, or summoned the wrong heroes, it was proof that he was on the right track. As stressful as being the mysterious benefactor was some days, that stress turned to excitement as he saw the fate of the world he'd grown to love changing before his very eyes. Despite all its hardships, it could be saved, and his hand could guide it to salvation.

Then, of course, there was the day when she arrived. The feeling of relief that came over him when he saw her in the flesh for the first time in an age.

He was lucky he hadn't fainted, truthfully. It had taken every ounce of strength to stay standing when he'd met her outside the gates of the Crystarium. She must have known it was him from the first second, even with how much better at lying he'd become in the centuries since they'd last met. Whether she had seen through them or not, he didn't know. They had barely discussed the topic of his second identity; not surprising, given how hells-bent the worlds were on keeping the two of them occupied. She flitted between worlds like a phantom, sometimes pausing for a brief conversation, but never long enough to truly dig deep into his--possibly their-- emotions on what had happened.

Those emotions weighed heavily upon him, more often now that the world was no longer in mortal peril. Her presence had retrieved memories buried in the deepest recesses of his mind, ones he had shelved when retrieving them caused more pain than warmth. Nights spent lounging on granite outcroppings or half-empty taverns, sharing drinks, stories, feelings, fears. The way her features and back stiffened when they were in the company of others, the way she relaxed and joked with him when they were alone. Strange how after so many years, those images were so fresh in his mind.

Now, those images were joined by others. Polite smiles, pensive expressions. The glimpse of the smile she'd shown him before the ascent of Mt. Gulg, which in hindsight, he should have taken to mean that she knew. Then, the contorted expression of grief and pain he'd caught for a brief moment before falling unconscious. The crack in her voice when she screamed his name-- his real name.

That memory, in particular, was seared into his mind. In a terrible way, it was comforting. To think that after all that time, she still cared so deeply for him, enough that she disregarded the fact that her everything was falling apart before her very eyes. Though it ashamed him, he clung to that memory with the same desperation he showed his pillow at night, fueling the hope that, despite the ages that had come to pass, it was not too late.

Though he'd denied it for years and completely forgotten it for decades, he could not deny it in her presence.

He was still hopelessly in love with her.

But that wasn't important tonight. though the young man he had once been was stirring within him, he would place him back on the shelf for now. Tonight, he needed to be the Crystal Exarch. A fearless leader, someone who, despite his lack of knowledge and experience, focus his attentions on understanding the problems that a fledgling economy birthed when constant war came to an end. And so, he pressed on through the pile of recommended readings, despite the heavy pull of sleep on his eyelids. Only a few more chapters and he might be ready to meet with the scholars tomorrow morning.

A hard knock came at the study door. He glanced up from his tome. "Who is it?" Whoever it was didn't answer. At least the sudden guest gave him a small reprieve from the convoluted text he was forcing himself through.

After rolling his shoulders and giving his tired neck the stretch it needed, the Exarch rose from his seat and found his way to the door. Most likely it was no more than a messenger, sent with yet another book the scholars had forgotten to send his way.

He opened the door.

"Oh."

In his surprise, he nearly forgot to wear his usual smile. He'd expected a messenger, not the Warrior of Darkness. So much for shelving those unbidden thoughts and memories this eve. His expression warmed as a bit of his formal demeanor fell away. "This is an unexpected surprise."

She stared at him, eyes half-closed, lips parted, as if in confusion. It was then that he noticed just how red her cheeks were. As she exhaled, the scent of wine floated into the air. His immediate reaction was joyful surprise -- he'd hoped she'd eventually find the wine delivered to her rooms palatable. Apparently she found it quite palatable, as from her slightly-disheveled clothing and the sway to her posture, she must have consumed nearly all of it.

What happened next, however, would surprise him even more. In the brief moment he spent examining her condition, her confused expression wavered, her lip quivered, and tears swelled in her too-bright eyes. Panicking, he pushed open the door and gestured for her to enter. "Come in, please, have a seat."

She gave no response, but entered anyway, making a beeline for the plush sofa that stood opposite the desk he'd been working at. As she sat, the Exarch went for the pitcher of water, quickly filling the glass that had been meant for him, then offering it to the silently crying Warrior. She took it without a reply, only to set it in her lap.

Had he ever seen her cry? He wasn't sure. Likely not back then, and most definitely not in the time he had spent with her in the First, even despite all that she had endured. What, then, had happened to drive the Warrior of Darkness to tears? Moreover, what had driven her to his study and not anywhere else?

Only one way to answer his questions. The Exarch found himself kneeling down before her, trying to see up into her crestfallen face. "Are you unwell?"

She shook her head. "I--" Her voice sounded as if it were straining against a heavy weight, and it came skidding to a halt as the tears came spilling over her cheeks with a sob.

Strange that after all these years, he still felt so unprepared to deal with certain situations. The Exarch had comforted injured children, husbands who lost their wives, daughters who lost their parents, and it all felt natural. Her, though -- how could he comfort her?

Hesitantly, he took a seat by her side, keeping the distance between them and resting a crystalline hand on her quivering shoulder. Something within him said that was the safest option, though he was not quite sure whose heart he was protecting. No need to think about that now. "If there is aught I can do to ease--"

"No." She shook her head more violently, taking a quick, shuddering breath. "I-- I don't know."

He leaned forward in an attempt to glean something from her expression. "Know that if it is within my power, I would gladly do anything to help."

The Warrior's shoulders heaved once more as she exhaled. Then, finally, her eyes flitted to her left to meet his cardinal gaze.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Her words came out in a slurry of sound. Had she always been this much of a lightweight, or had whatever happened been so terrible to drive her to drink to this extent?

His response came immediately. "Of course."

With a sigh, she revealed her grave secret. "I'm tired."

The Exarch smiled sheepishly. "I would expect as much. 'Tis nearly midnight."

She shook her head. "Not like that. I'm-- I'm tired of being me. Being the Warrior." Her eyes flicked back to the cup of water nestled between her palms in her lap. She grit her teeth and grimaced. "Forgive me."

"For what?" He found himself murmuring, giving her shoulder a hopefully comforting squeeze. "As well you should be. You've worked so hard."

Her shoulder quivered under the weight of a held-back sob. "I-- I just want to be nobody again. I can't be nobody here." She glanced his way. "You know how that feels, don't you?"

"I do." Twelve knew he did, but he'd simply come to accept it. After so much time, the pressures of his new life had simply become the pressures of life. It was no wonder that she was feeling so upset; she hadn't spent nearly as long in this new role as he had. "But the worst has passed. Another storm may yet come, but for now, we can rest, take a reprieve from our roles for but a--"

Without warning, the Warrior of Darkness raised both hands and shoved him away. The Exarch was so surprised by the sudden force that he completely lost his balance, toppling off the sofa onto his back on the carpeted floor. There was a muffled splatter at his ankles as the cup she'd been holding between her knees fell to the ground with him. Stunned, he stared up at the Warrior, whose red, tear-stained face had filled with drunken emotion.

"Stop doing that!" She slurred, lips drawn up in a pout.

"D-doing what?" The Exarch stammered.

The Warrior crossed her arms and looked away. "Being so godsdamned formal 'bout everything. I just want you to be you." Her expression softened. "I want G'raha."

The words hit him as surely as a boulder would. Heat filled his cheeks as he pulled himself back up into his seat, contemplating the meaning behind those words. That small, shelved part of him was doing backflips, but a much more present part of him felt like crying himself.

Sniffling, she glanced back in his direction, looking very much like a pleading child. It only made his next words even more painful to speak aloud.

"I don't know if that's possible." He murmured, turning his gaze downwards as she had moments before. How could he meet her eyes? "Not anymore."

"Why not?" It seemed she'd picked up on his dampened mood, as the indignant tone was gone from her voice now.

"I may have forgotten how." The Exarch smiled sheepishly. "It's been decades since-- since I was anyone but the Exarch. Forgive me."

The Warrior was silent for a long moment. Eventually, she leaned back and sighed, setting her head atop the back of the sofa and staring up at the ceiling of rough-hewn crystal. "I know." Her eyes fell shut. "I'm sorry."

As guilty as he felt to betray her desires, he was glad that she was calming down. Hells, he felt a sigh of his own escape his lips as well. And, though he'd said it was impossible, he did feel a bit of his younger self finding his way out of the recesses of his mind. Perhaps it was because of the way she was being so blisteringly honest with him. A memory from eons ago sprang forth. The last time they'd talked so openly about their worries and fears. Gods, we were young then, weren't we?

The memory brought the smile back to his face, and he felt compelled to share it. "It has been quite a while since we spoke like this, hasn't it?"

She didn't respond immediately. "It has."

"Do you remember?"

She gave him a non-committal hum, then opened her eyes. "You were far more drunk than I was."

That wasn't quite the memory he was thinking of. "We were drunk?"

A lock of her hair slipped behind the sofa as she nodded. "I was drinking Lominsan wine. You were drinking something far stronger. Clearwine, I think."

The mention of a liquor he hadn't tasted in centuries tugged dozens of forgotten memories to the forefront of his mind. The mingling scents of sweat, smoke, and burning liquid. The pickings of a melody upon a lute. The pounding headache and early morning spent crouching over a latrine. Most of all, the glow of her smile, the warmth in her laughter. A simple evening he'd lived decades and decades ago in a land that no longer existed.

"Did you remember?"

She'd swung herself forward again, even further than before, her head rested in her hands, her elbows rested on her knees. He flushed as he realized he'd been staring off into space. "Yes. Yes, I did." He chuckled, bringing a pensive hand to his chin. "Though I seem to have forgotten if I embarrassed myself."

"I'm sure we both did." She returned his chuckle with one of her own. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard her laugh in eons, either. Perhaps I should have insisted upon the wine earlier, came a selfish thought. No matter. He would bask in the moment while it was here.

Strange how his attention lingered on the smallest things. First, it was the quiet rumbling of a hum in her throat. Then, the rise and fall of her chest as she took a deep, calming breath. Both were so very nostalgic. How was it that she'd managed to tug all of these memories out from the deepest recesses of his mind in no more than a few minutes of talk?

The sound of a sudden snort drew the Exarch out of his thoughts. When he came to focus on her again, she was wearing a wicked smile. "I did remember one thing from that last evening at the Find."

He met her smile with a grimace. "I am not sure if I want to know."

The Warrior leaned a bit closer, only adding to his nervous anticipation. Her eyelids were drooping. She really was quite drunk, wasn't she? "When you kept bragging about your skill with the bow, I made a terrible quip about your skill in handling shafts, and you--"

"What?!" He stiffened, flushing a deep red. Immediately, the Warrior burst with laughter, doubling over herself and shaking the sofa. The Exarch's ears wilted in embarrassment and confusion. "I-- I what?"

She wiped a tear from her eye and looked back up to him with a much more well-meaning smile. "You did just that."

He had no response for her, though he was sure his face was just as red as hers was now.

With a sigh, the hero returned her chin to her hand-pillow, still staring at the Crystarium leader with that endearing grin. "You're still him."

If he could blush any deeper, he would. Quiet, he told the increasingly loud voice in the back of his mind. "I would hope so," he replied, "else there's been a terrible mistake."

She studied him. "You've got less attitude."

"I did get old."

"I know plenty of old men with attitude."

She swayed for a moment, then righted herself. Perhaps he should have someone escort her back to her room at the Pendants. "My apologies for the disappointment, then." He exhaled, feigning defeat, but smiling sheepishly.

The Warrior took another deep breath. Though she may not have been sobering up, she was at least feeling more calm. In fact, she seemed far more calm than she'd been in... well, years. Even during the lulls in their latest adventures, there was a degree of tension about her, a stiffness she couldn't seem to shake. Perhaps it was good, then, that she'd finally indulged in something. The Exarch wondered if she had done so at all in her time in the First.

"Feeling a bit better?"

With another sigh, she nodded, returning the sheepish smile he'd shown her before. "Feeling very drunk."

"And your first impulse, upon getting this drunk, is to find me in my private chambers?"

"Not exactly." The Warrior laughed. "My first impulse was to punch you in the face."

"Wh-what?!" He gasped. At least the shock drained a bit of the excess color from his face. "Why?!"

Her smile stiffened, and she shrugged. "For spending your decades in the First making me out to be an infallible hero."

Oh. Understandable, he supposed. "'Twas awfully difficult to avoid doing so." The Exarch replied with a guilty smile of his own.

She sighed. "I know. That's why I didn't punch you."

"Good thing, too. With your strength, you may as well have shattered my cheek."

The Exarch had intended to lighten the mood with the joke, but it only seemed to have drawn her attention to the crystal that crept up from his neck to his cheekbone. She stared, eyes narrowing. Then, her hand shifted, moving upwards towards his face. There was a moment of panic, and she must have noticed, because even in her drunken state, she flinched and faltered.

"Sorry." Her hand stayed frozen in mid-air, her expression curious and somewhat pleading. It was strangely endearing. She's no different than the children who fawn over my arm, he thought.

"'Tis alright." He responded, closing his eyes. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Apparently, she didn't hesitate, as moment later, her fingertips were smoothing over his cheek. He'd expected rougher motions, given her current state, but no, she was being so very gentle. For some reason, the normally dulled sensation felt stronger this evening. Perhaps it was because she was running so warm. Perhaps it was because it was her, that insistent voice answered.

He watched the curious expression on her face as she traced the outline of crystal down the side of his cheek to his jaw. Her usually stony expression was soft and full of emotion, fascination, her mouth hanging open ever-so-slightly. She tilted her head to the left, a few fingers brushing his hair aside to peer more closely. It was only as the touch moved upwards, dangerously close to his ear, that he shied away, averting his gaze and hoping to the Twelve that she could not feel how violently his heart was beating.

Thankfully, she must not have, as she pulled back with barely a reaction. "Did it hurt?" She asked.

He shook his head. "I wish I could tell you the story, but alas, this is what I was greeted by when I awoke."

"Hmm." Her eyes were practically burning holes in his face. "You'll have to tell me about that sometime."

"Perhaps when you are not so-- _tired."_ He grimaced as she swayed once more. "I would hear some of your stories as well, perhaps another night?"

The Warrior nodded, her eyes falling shut. A moment later, she was leaning forward, no, _falling_ forward -- until she lay slumped atop his legs. One hand slid over his knee to hang limply towards the ground. It had happened so suddenly, he hadn't thought to catch her-- so he sat upright, stiff as a board, both hands frozen mid-air, too nervous to touch or disturb her.

"M-mayhap--" He paused to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. "Mayhap you should return to your room? O-or I could prepare one for you here in the--"

She interrupted him with a long, drawn-out groan. Eventually, she moaned out, "Can I stay here?"

The Exarch _supposed_ there was no harm in letting her sleep in the study. It was likely the safest option at this point, despite the rumors that were bound to blossom afterwards. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to risk moving her, anyroad-- from the _sofa,_ of course. As happy as _some_ part of him was to be comforting the Warrior of Darkness with his lap-pillow, he could hardly sit here all night and indulge himself.

There was no use in responding, as sure enough, she had already fallen asleep. Slowly, he lifted her head and shoulders off his legs and shimmied out from under her, then carefully set her back down upon the cushion. She barely even stirred. 

Without thinking, his crystalline hand brushed over her crown, catching a few strands of her hair between his fingertips. She looked so peaceful. As he gazed upon her, his eyes lingered on the small, nigh-discernible changes on her cheeks. _New scars_. He'd only noticed because he'd spotted the old one by her temple. Hadn't she told him about it, before? 

So many memories were coming back. _Too many._ He rose to his feet, unable to take his eyes from her sleeping form. No, he needed to push them back. There was too much to do for him to be overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings from another age.

With that, he bid her a quiet good-night, then scooped up the tome he'd been studying and made a quick exit.

Twelve knew he wouldn't be able to focus there anymore.


	2. A Rekindling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the previous night's embarrassment, the Warrior heads to the Ocular to apologize for her unsightly display.

The next morning, the Exarch woke far earlier than normal -- a few bells before blessed sunup -- and quietly nudged open the door to his study. She was gone. It shouldn't have surprised him; he should have expected she'd find her way back to her rooms once she sobered up. Still, he couldn't help but feel just a _little_ disappointed. He could admit he was looking forward to spending a few more honest moments with her alone.

He would have to speak with her later, then. No matter how strong the memories of those pesky _feelings_ were becoming, it was time to set them back on the shelf and resume fulfilling his responsibilities. With a quiet sigh, he let the door to the study swing shut, then headed for his duties.

* * *

Funny how she still managed to surprise him. Not a few hours into the morning, and a knock came at the doors to the Ocular. When they swung open, there she stood, straight and stiff and formal. He forced his disappointment back down his throat and offered her a kindly smile.

Before he could speak, however, the woman bowed her head with a sharp motion and launched into a prepared speech.

"Please forgive me." There was an urgency to her voice. "For last night's disturbance, I mean. I-- I fear I may have placed unnecessary burden upon you."

A part of him found this display absolutely endearing. He shook his head. "'Twas no burden. I can imagine no better company."

Her jaw stiffened. She did that often, lately. "I-If that is true, then... thank you for your hospitality." With that, she turned on her heel, fully intent on making a quick escape.

"Wait." The Exarch took a step forward. Thankfully, she did, glancing back towards him. For the briefest moment, he glimpsed a shade of the woman he'd seen the night before, the woman he'd known so many ages ago. Her cheeks were flushed. She was _embarrassed!_ Realizing that alone was enough to bring color to his own face. _Focus._ "I-- very much enjoyed our conversation last evening. Would you mind treating me to yet another sometime?"

The Warrior stared back at him, the last vestiges of emotion disappearing from her face. _She wasn't always like this,_ his memories whispered. _Neither was I,_ he replied. A moment later, she glanced away, lips parting, as if in thought.

"If you would be so kind." It seemed like that would be all, but as she turned, she added, "I will see you this evening, then?"

His traitorous heart skipped a beat, and his jaw clenched shut. She's _eager_. He shook it off. "Perfect. I will await you in my study."

She gave him a nod and a brief, blessed smile, then found her way out of the Ocular.

As soon as the doors swung close, the Exarch felt his knees buckle, and he had to rely on his staff to keep him upright. He was _far _too excited about the prospect of being alone with her again, and it terrified him. This wasn't like him. It was much more like-- like the young man from those memories. There was something in what had happened the night before that was causing him to remember more and more about that man, what he had said to her, the cockiness and arrogance he'd shown her, the childish pouting and raucous laughter he'd shared with her. 

The memories themselves weren't the problem. The problem came with those words she'd said the night before, words he had repeated to himself over and over. _I need G'raha._ He couldn't be G'raha anymore. It was impossible. 

_ But if that is who she needs..._

He steeled himself. Perhaps he was still doomed to be himself, but he could at least attempt to provide her the support and honesty she needed. Perhaps he was setting himself up for failure or heartbreak, but if doing so would grant her the comfort she so desperately wanted, he would do it without hesitation.

After all, there was very little he would not do for _her_.

* * *

The Warrior had never imagined that the next Primal-tier foe she would face was herself.

The previous evening was a blur, but enough of it was in focus for her to realize how much of a godsdamned fool she'd made of herself. Not only had she paraded through the Crystarium, drunk out of her mind, she'd gone straight up to the Ocular in the middle of the night -- an act that was _surely _fueling several dozen rumors by now -- then spent a bell sobbing in the Exarch's study. Thank the Twelve for his kindness and understanding; else, she might have thrown herself from the window of her room in the Pendants.

As ashamed as she was by her display, there was one thing she couldn't deny: she was feeling much better. Sure, she felt guilty suddenly burdening him with the weight of all her worries, but it had felt so _good_. And it hadn't been the first time they'd done something like that in their days together; ages ago, they'd shared feelings, thoughts, and secrets with one another on a nightly basis, drinking and laughing in the cold Mor Dhonan air. The memory warmed her terrified heart. 

_ He's gotten so mature._

He'd changed. Of course he'd changed, so had she, and he'd had far more time to change than her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. There was a recklessness, a cockiness that was missing from him now. The gleam in his eyes had dulled. There was no undoing what time had done to them, despite the power he wielded. He would never be the same young man again, just as she would never be the same foolhardy young woman again. Too much had happened for them to ever return to the way they were.

Still, it was nice to pretend, even only for an evening, that they were back on that outcropping of stone in Mor Dhona, staring up at a shining tower of light and wondering about its secrets. No Empires to destroy, no Calamities to prevent, no Light to contain within her. Just her, and him, a bottle, and a mystery. She closed her eyes and relived the memory. He was pointing. She was laughing. He turned to her and grinned, odd-colored eyes gleaming with joy. Her heart fluttered, and she gave him a shove. 

The Warrior opened her eyes and sighed, examining herself in the mirror. Her stoic expression was tarnished by the dark blush that had bloomed across her cheeks.

Loathe as she was to admit it, she was still hopefully in love with G'raha Tia. 

But no. That wouldn't do, not now. It had been a _century, more_ for him. Even _if _she had the gall to broach the subject with him, there'd be no point. She couldn't dwell on the rumors she'd heard about him_ never taking a partner_ or _spending most of his time alone_. She was the Warrior of Light and Darkness, and he was the Crystal Exarch. Neither of those roles allowed for a relationship, and certainly not the kind she was longing for. Best to shove those feelings back into the recesses of her mind and enjoy what little she could of their regrowing friendship.

With another heavy sigh, the Warrior brushed her hand through her hair one last time, then headed towards the door. It was time to face her next Trial.

* * *

Soon, she was back before the doors to his study, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest with every passing heartbeat. Perhaps she really _should _have had a bit of that wine before she'd walked over. Not that she understood the entire reason why she was so terrified of speaking to him again. This was supposed to be casual and friendly. Why did it feel like she was setting herself up for yet another embarrassment?

There was no turning back. The door opened, and she was greeted by his smiling face. The Exarch hesitated for a moment, possibly picking up on her heightened nerves, but if he did, he didn't mention anything. "Come in."

The Warrior nodded and followed after him, feeling much more like a clockwork mammet than flesh-and-blood person. Her jaw was beginning to ache from how tightly she was clenching her teeth. _Relax_, she repeated to herself, _everything is fine._ If only she was better at convincing herself of just that.

Much of the clutter in the study had been tidied up, she noticed; the piles of books were either stacked up against the walls or returned to their rightful places on the shelves, and much of the papers that had covered the solitary desk were now sitting in neat little rows. The air didn't smell as dusty, either. She smiled, and the tight muscles on her cheeks began to relax ever so slightly.

"Water?"

She turned towards his voice. The Exarch was holding a small pitcher of chilled water. "Ah, yes, thank you." She spoke without thinking. Should she sit? It felt rude to stand in the center of the small, circular room, but then again, perhaps there was something she could help with. A small tray of nuts and fruits lay atop the small table besides the sofa, ready and prepared for his guest.

He walked towards her with the half-full glass, and she accepted it quietly. "I figured wine was a terrible idea, given your indulgence last night."

Her mouth fell open slightly in shock, blood rushing to her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry." Her fingers curled around the glass. "It won't happen again."

The Exarch waved a dismissive hand. "You don't have to feel embarrassed, my friend." The same hand rose to sheepishly scratch at his ear. "Would you believe I've done something quite similar, and recently, too?"

_That _was intriguing. She reacted with a raised brow. "The Crystal Exarch, wandering through the Crystarium, _drunk?_"

"Not exactly." He chuckled, gesturing for her to sit. She did, and he followed shortly after. "Not too long before you first arrived in the Source, the Crystarium held its Festival for the Elders. Naturally, they made me the centerpiece of the celebration."

The Warrior responded with a quiet laugh. "I'm assuming they presented you with a celebratory drink?"

"_Drinks_," he clarified, reaching for the tray of snacks and bringing it in her direction. When she shook her head, he took a handful of nuts, then placed it back on the end table. "Despite my preparations, I had failed to realize how _many _elders they were honoring. Each one received a toast, and we were expected to drink generously to their health and wisdom..."

The Exarch brought that hand to his ear again, smiling sheepishly. His habit of wearing his emotions on his sleeve was endearing, she thought to herself. Perhaps it was a habit he'd developed after wearing that godsdamned hood for so long. Thank goodness he'd decided to shed that particular part of his everyday costume. 

He continued. "Less than an hour into the dinner, I was so drunk, I could barely turn my head without the vertigo nearly overtaking me. Thankfully, the 'celebrated elders' weren't expected to stand up to socialize, so I was able to spend most of the night refusing wine refills and trying my best to keep myself from falling out of my chair."

"And? Did you make it back to your chambers without tripping over your robes?"

"Only by the grace of the gods." The Exarch chuckled, popping a few nuts into his mouth.

The Warrior used the moment of silence to take a sip of her water. Funny how just a few minutes of conversation, and the tension that had possessed her was completely melted away. As he continued to munch, she asked, "When did you get to be such a lightweight, G'raha?"

He flushed slightly at the sudden mention of his name, but otherwise continued on without pause. "I could ask the same of you, I suppose. A full bottle of wine was nothing to you back then, if I'm remembering correctly."

"You are," she laughs, "but I haven't had much time to drink full bottles of wine, lately. Thinking back, though, you may have always been a bit of a lightweight. I don't remember you _minding _that, however. You threw those vials of clearwine back like they were filled with water."

The Exarch wrinkled his nose at that memory. "They most certainly were _not_." He sighed. "I can't say I miss that particular substance."

"You don't have anything like that here in the First?"

He shook his head. "Don't be fooled, we have plenty of strong liquor here, but nothing as foul and cruel as clearwine."

"Truly, a gift from the void itself." She chuckled, sipping at her water once more. "You don't drink much, then."

"Not much, no. 'Tis unavoidable at festivals, but if I happen to dine with anyone, there are plenty of other beverages to choose from."

"Such as?"

He thought for a moment. "The Crystarium grows a variety of blood orange that's quite sweet."

"Hmm." The Warrior took another drink. Come to think of it, there were plenty of plants in the First that were unlike anything she'd seen before. A few merchants had given her strange looks when she'd asked for certain things, too. At the time, the experiences had only been stressful, but now, she felt she could see them in a more curious light. "Do you have tangerines here in the First?'

"Huh?" That seemed to take the Exarch off-guard. "Tangerines... I haven't heard that word in quite a while. I believe we have a citrus fruit that's a bit similar?"

"I see." A particular memory had floated into her mind. A time when they'd shared a few tangerines one early morning. _Didn't he throw one at me at some point? And he missed, and--_

She snorted. "How much would that hurt if you threw it at my backside?"

The redheaded Miqo'te laughed at her gibe. "Would you believe I was just thinking of that?"

"I would say I was surprised you remembered, but aim that terrible is quite memorable." She grinned, leaning forward. "I'm sure your aim is much worse now."

He returned her grin with a sly smirk of his own. "I suppose we would have to find out."

"I'd like to see you try." Her hand moved without thinking, reaching for his shoulder and giving it a playful shove. Beneath the light fabric, she could feel the smoothness of the crystal that had engulfed his torso. It was only then that she realized what she'd done. "Ah, sorry--"

"No, no, need to apologize," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Truthfully, I appreciated the gesture, violent as it was." The Exarch scratched at his ear. "It has been a long while since anyone has had the gumption to lay their hands on me."

The Warrior felt the color tinging her cheeks. Hopefully the light was poor enough that his Allagan eyes would not notice her apparent embarrassment. "I can only assume it is because of the respect they feel for you."

"Perhaps. That, or they are afraid they will hurt me, and know not how they would care for one of my _condition_."

She offered him a smile and a warm touch to the shoulder she'd abused. "I would assume it is the former, not the latter." She pulled back to nurse at her cup of water again, though her eyes lingered on the spot where she'd touched him. For all she knew, the crystallization of his arm extended far past that shoulder and up into his neck, yet despite the rigid facets of his form, he was _warm_. 

He must have caught her staring, for he leaned forward with a cocked brow. "Oh," she sputtered, feeling even more foolish than before, "forgive me, I-- was lost in my own thoughts."

That seemed to sate him, but she found her curiosity lingering. Come to think of it, he _had _mentioned something the night before... 

"You said you would tell me the story." When he pursed his lips in confusion, she continued, "Of when you first arrived in the First. My memory is a bit hazy, but I do believe you said it would be another night. Can that night be tonight?"

The Exarch's lips parted slightly, clearly considering her request seriously. Perhaps she shouldn't have asked so soon into their rekindling of their long-lost friendship. To her surprise, however, he responded with a gentle smile and a softness to her eyes that tugged at long-forgotten heartstrings. "Very well, on one condition."

She nodded. "Of course."

"That you would tell me some of your _own_ stories, dear Warrior." His smile widened into a grin. "I am sure that the tales you tell will far surpass the far-removed recountings I've gleaned from history books." 

"A fair trade, I'd say." With that, she set the near-empty glass on the floor and folded her hands in her lap, exhaling slowly. Funny. She'd never told her _own_ tales before. Not that she had ever needed to; her deeds were well-known, no matter what world she was visiting. There were a few occasions when well-meaning others had asked her to recount a few of her adventures, but she had never felt comfortable doing so. What was there to say? _The Mother Crystal gave me power, and I used that power to defeat my enemies?_ Better to let the historians and poets handle the details.

Now, though, she felt she could speak. Maybe it was because they had happened so long ago, or perhaps it was because she was relatively alone. It could have been those eyes and that smile. The comfort of knowing she could be honest, and there would be no judgment to follow. 

She took a deep breath, then leaned forward.

"Where would you like me to begin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I didn't expect to get such a positive reaction for this story! Thank you to everyone who's left kudos, and especially to everyone who left comments! I'm still figuring out how ao3 works, so I'm sorry if I haven't replied, but know that I've read every one with a huge, goofy smile on my face. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and support! There will be at least two more chapters, with the next one going back into wonderful, blissful Angst.)


	3. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an unexpected twist of fate forces the Warrior of Fate to swallow the Light once more, the Exarch arrives just in time to pick up her pieces.

The Exarch had borne witness to the power of diplomacy countless times during his century-long regency. From squabbles between children to decade-long feuds, the right words could nearly always defuse any kind of conflict he encountered in the First.

He should not have been surprised, then, when his nightly conversations with the Warrior had such a drastic effect on her temperament.

At first, it was a casual promise, a question of whether the other was free to speak again some time that week. They were busy, after all; surely neither could spare every single one of their evenings chatting over a bowl of nuts and glasses of water. As fate would have it, those weekly meetings were soon happening every other evening, until eventually, he had just begun to expect her at his study door every evening between the eighth and ninth bells.

Though he hadn't heard any rumors yet, he was sure there were at least a half-dozen of them swirling about the Crystarium and Lakeland by now. There had been plenty of colorful rumors about him over the years, each one more creative than the last. A few merchants gossiping about a possible romantic interest was far better than half the Crystarium hatching a plan to pull open his robe and determine once and for all if he was male or female. Perhaps he should share _that_ story with the Warrior next time they met.

Despite how old those stories made him out to be, strangely enough, they were making the Exarch feel _younger_. Perhaps it was because he was sharing them with someone who hadn't been there to witness most of them. She was a good listener, too, though that wasn't surprising, given her line of work. She didn't hesitate to ask questions, either -- even the questions that made him pause, dig deep, and admit to the things he never would have otherwise. Try as he might to sugar-coat the long history he'd survived, she always managed to see through him.

_ As if I needed yet another reason to enjoy her company._

The rekindled flame within his heart was difficult to bear at times, but it was worth it to see her temperament shift and change. Her initial stiffness softened, her jaw unclenched, her eyes warmed with a light he hadn't seen since long before his slumber. She laughed louder, and more often. Her stories filled with more detail and revealed more of the turbulent emotions she admitted she'd kept to herself. Her jokes were ruder and more frequently accompanied by shoves, pokes, and nudges.

It was those small affectionate touches -- as affectionate as a shove to the shoulder could get, he supposed -- that were twisting at the knife in his heart more than anything. The children of the Crystarium were quick to jump up and grab onto his robes, demand an Exarch-back ride, or cling to his leg when a stranger tried to say hello. The adults, however, were far too shy to extend more than a handshake. He understood their reservations, of course; between the crystallized arm and deliberately-masked identity, who _wouldn't_ have been afraid to throw their arms around him or smack him on the back?

The answer to that once-rhetorical question was _her_, apparently, and it was causing all sorts of changes within him. There was a newfound warmth within him he hadn't realized he was missing. His mind felt quicker, his thoughts more agile and lively. Perhaps he simply hadn't realized how starved for contact he was; that, or her gentle nudges and playful shoves were drawing forth not just the memories of the man he'd once been, but the man himself.

_ I want G'raha._

Perhaps he would never truly be _him_ again, but for all the evenings they'd spent together, she seemed quite happy with the man he'd become, despite it all. She was genuinely enjoying his time with him.

That fact made it all the worse when, one evening, she failed to appear.

He had an inkling as to _why_, and he barely had to glance in Lyna's direction for her to tell him _no, she had not left her chambers this evening_. With worry rising in his chest, the Exarch steeled himself, then headed for the Pendants. It was _his_ turn to make a fool of himself before the Crystarium.

* * *

_ "I hate to ask, after all you have endured, dear friend..."_

The Warrior slumped down from the sink, knees buckling and crumpling beneath her. The cold tile of the washroom floor was barely enough to soothe her too-hot skin.

_ "We've no time. If this Lightwarden awakens before we are ready, ere long, the Light will return."_

She coughed, then exhaled sharply through her nose. Neither did much to rid the scent of bile.

_ "Mayhap the crystals will arrive in time, but if they do not..."_

Water dripped from her chin to splatter on her bare thighs. She leaned forward, bracing herself against another dry heave. It didn't come, but the nausea persisted, tightening around her throat and tongue.

"Will you do us this favor one final time, Warrior of Darkness?"

She nodded.

The Warrior of Darkness shuddered as tears found their ways down her cheeks. What else could she have done? She was their only hope. _Of course._ _As always._ It was always urgent, there was never enough time for another plan. It was always her. Never _them_. _How dare they_, she thought, clenching her jaw against another wave of nausea._ They didn't even try._

Just the thought of the wretched Light filling her up again made her feel sick, enough to have already vomited several times. Little remained of the dinner she'd choked down not hours before, not that it mattered to her stomach, which continued to churn and heave in its attempts to keep her from fulfilling her Gods-given duty. Eventually, it would give up. She would give in. Sleep would take her, and come morning light, she would strap on her armor and stride out into the Crystarium, head held high, citizenry cheering her name, praying for her victory.

_ How dare they._ She let out a quiet sob as the terror and rage overwhelmed her again. _How dare **She**._

The Warrior took a deep breath and pulled herself up by the lip of the basin above her. As she rose, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Tired eyes, tear-stained cheeks, a ring of wet hair around her still-damp face, the rest a half-tangled mess; wet blotches at the collar of her nightshift. She looked exactly how she felt: weak.

_ I can't be weak,_ came a frantic thought._ I mustn't be weak._ No matter how many times she had cursed the people of the sundered stars, she could never abandon them to a preventable fate. There were no doubts in her mind. She _would_ save them. To do that, she needed to be strong, or at least, pretend to be strong. That act had proven to be more important than she'd known. After all, if she hadn't pretended to be so strong, who would have thought to write her name down in the histories that united the world and inspired _him_ to chase after his own fate?

A knock came at the door. There would be no more time for self-loathing or introspection, it seemed.

She called out a response without even thinking. "One moment!" Her voice was surprisingly smooth for the amount of abuse her throat had just endured. She stared back at herself in the mirror, pupils constricting as anxiety rose in her chest. She knew who was at the door.

Her hand reached for the comb, but paused. It wouldn't matter. She could hardly greet him half-dressed, however, so she marched out of the washroom towards the bed, then took the thin cotton sheet from atop the mattress and wrapped it around her midsection as a makeshift skirt. As she approached the door, the thought finally occurred to her that _maybe she could just ignore him, and he would leave her alone_, but it was far too late for that now. Her jaw clenched tight, she willed herself to turn the knob and pull the door open.

It was exactly as she'd expected. The Exarch stood before her, hands clasped around a fabric-wrapped cylinder, his usual robes far too formal for her own attire. His initial smile faltered as he took in her appearance, but its warmth was soon rekindled.

"You didn't come."

She stiffened. The deep-set worry in his eyes sunk a dagger into her chest. She averted her eyes, opening her mouth to repeat the same lie she always did -- _don't worry, I'm alright_ \-- but the words didn't come. She knew why. In earlier days, she might've wondered, but after so many evenings spend by his side, she knew. He cared so deeply for her, perhaps even more deeply than she cared for him. She could not look him in the eye and deliberately hurt him in an attempt to protect her own pride.

Instead, she took a step back from the door, ignoring the wetness that was already coming to her eyes. "Come in."

She turned her back on him and strode into the room. Hopefully that would give her a few moments to compose herself. He followed after her, footsteps quiet against the smooth wood of the high-class Pendant chambers. A moment later, he paused to shut the door behind him. For whatever reason, the _click_ of the door's latch snapping into place shattered whatever composure she had mustered up, and the tears began to flow once more.

The Exarch must have noticed, because he had already abandoned his gift on the small shelf by the entrance. "Are you well?"

She shook her head, still refusing to turn back to face him. Now that she was no longer alone, she felt so foolish. How dare _she_ retreat to her rooms and wallow while the rest of her companions were preparing for battle?

A shuffling noise came from behind her. He was fidgeting. He tended to do that when he was nervous, or didn't know what to say. "This... concerns the Lightwarden, I assume."

She grit her teeth, then nodded.

After another pause, he responded, "Forgive me. 'Tis my fault entirely."

That statement was enough to turn her shameful face towards him, her hands gripping at her makeshift skirt with white-knuckled intensity. "What?"

It was the Exarch's turn to avert his gaze. His ears drooped downwards with it, guilt obvious on his features. "I did not give you a choice to come here. You were forced here by my hand. For whatever reason, to whatever end, your presence in the First was never a choice."

The Warrior found herself shaking her head again. For all the things that had pained her tonight, _this_ had to be the worst of it. "No," she murmured. "it's not your fault."

"That is kind of you to say," the Exarch replied, still refusing to meet her eyes. "but 'tis the truth of the matter. Had I not forcibly summoned you across--"

"Stop it, just _stop_." She raised her voice without thinking. He flinched, and her heart wept. She took a deep breath. "It's not you, G'raha. It's-- _everyone_. They all expect me to say yes, to-- to smile as I do whatever is asked of me. I'm not a _person_ to them. I'm the Warrior of Light, or-- or Darkness, or whatever! None of them stop to consider if they're asking _too much!"_

He was looking at her now, likely because of the mess she was making of her face. Between the tears and the grimace, she was surely a sight to see. It didn't matter. The truth was out, now, and there was no stopping the shame she was feeling.

Despite that, he still found some reason to smile. "No one is demanding you do this. Surely we can find another way to--"

_ "We don't have time, G'raha!"_ She threw her arms up in frustration, bringing them down a moment later to cover her face with one hand. "You were _there_. You _heard_ their reasons. There is no other way. I _have_ to go, I _have_ to do this, or--" She swallowed. "Or the Light will return, consume the star, bringing forth a Calamity, destroying worlds, extinguishing more lives than anyone can _fathom_, and ruining everything we've all worked so _godsdamned_ hard for! How could I say no? What choice has She given me?"

The Exarch was silent as she shouted. His reassuring smile was gone now, replaced with a hesitant stiffness. _Good_. She continued on with her rant. "Tomorrow, I will walk out this door and swallow that accursed light, just so they can _bicker_ over what to do with it. There will always be something _more_ for them to ask of me, and I will _always_ do it for them. I have no say in it at all, and _no one_ cares. No matter how hard I try, my--"

"That's not _true!"_

Her words died on her lips as he closed the gap between them more quickly than she thought possible, his hands reaching for her shoulders and gripping them tightly. The sudden proximity and the warmth on her bare skin was shock enough to overwhelm her with emotion. Tears poured from her eyes as she squeezed them shut, color flooding her cheeks even as she clenched her jaw so tightly shut that her teeth began to ache.

"Please." Even as he whispered, she could hear the wavering in his breath. There was a slight tremble in his fingertips. "I beg you, _please_ don't say that."

The Warrior bit her lip, then spoke. "Why does it always have to be _me_, G'raha?"

Suddenly, he was pulling her into him, and her head fell forward into his flesh-and-blood shoulder. His hands slid over and around her frame to hold her close. She took a shuddering breath. He was so godsdamned warm. As his grip tightened on her, the last fragment of hesitation fell away, and the Warrior finally began to sob. With each violent, heaving breath, her strength began to fade, until her hands lost her grip and her knees began to buckle. Her bedsheets fluttered to the floor as she crumpled beneath the weight of her sorrow, but he followed with her, sinking to his knees as her legs splayed out below her. Her arms now freed, they sought out his comfort, too, reaching for his chest and gripping at the layered fabrics of his robes. There, she let every silent, shuddering tear pour out into the growing wet spot beneath her cheeks.

They stayed there like that for what seemed like an eternity, until finally, her cries began to die down. She felt him sigh, a combination of the rising and falling of his chest and the heat of his breath upon her crown. When he tried to pull away, however, she found herself clinging to him even more tightly. If he was going to let her be selfish, then she would stay selfish for as long as she could.

With a sigh of her own, the Warrior pulled herself closer to him, her bare legs now brushing up against his knees, her nose pressed close to his chest, shoulders rolling to press affectionately against him. It was dangerous, yes, but she could not embarrass herself any further. He was willing to go this far to comfort her, and she had nothing left to lose.

And so, she let her hands smooth around his chest to cling to his back.

He shivered beneath her. Let out a shuddering breath. His hands drifted down her spine, fingertips pressed into her skin ever so gently. His head dipped lower, a few locks of his white-tinged hair brushing up against her temple.

"G'raha." She murmured.

She felt his reaction in the stirring in his chest, the twitch of his fingers through the light fabric of her nightshift. It was a few moments before he managed to put what he was feeling into words.

"Forgive me." He breathed, desperation clinging to every syllable. "I wish I-- could be him."

"You _are_ him," she answered.

G'raha swallowed before continuing. "I fear I've changed far too much--"

"And so have I!" She pulled herself from him, head snapping up to try and meet his eyes. Only then did she notice the smallest trace of tearstains on his own cheeks, though they were hard to see above the blush that had consumed his entire face.

Somehow, he was managing to meet her gaze, albeit through hooded lids and a furrowed brow. His lips twisted with worry. "Yes, but--"

"But what?" Her fingers curled into the fabric of his robes. "Am I not the same woman as before?"

He shook his head. "No, I--"

"Am I no more than the Warrior of Darkness to you, too?"

G'raha flinched, regarding her with a look of horror. His eyes misted over as he grit his teeth. "No." He murmured. "No, of course not."

She broke their shared gaze, turning downwards to stare at her bare legs. _ He's lying,_ a traitorous voice whispered within the Warrior's mind._ He's just like the others, just trying to appease you. You should have known._

The flesh-and-blood hand on her shoulder drifted upwards, a thumb skirting over her cheek to catch an errant tear. As welcome as his touch was to the flame in her heart, she still had to suppress the urge to push him away.

Then, he whispered her name.

She gasped out a sob, falling back into his chest even as his crystalline hand joined the other on her face. He whispered it again, his lips pressed to her crown, and her voice finally broke free. Soon, she was nigh-_shrieking_ into his robes, her body violently shaking under the weight of the emotion his words had unleashed upon her fragile heart. Again and again, she made a fool of herself within his embrace, and he simply _allowed_ it, holding her tight to him when she demanded it, relaxing his grip when she lost all strength.

In the haze of it all, she felt him shiver and cry, too, the quietest hiccups of sobs escaping from his throat. As strange as it was to say, it was the greatest comfort he could have offered her. _You are not alone,_ they said. _We suffer through this together._

Together. How long had it been since she truly felt like she had companionship in this never-ending nightmare? The Scions were her friends, of _course_ they were, but did they truly understand? Were their fates as binding as the ones that had bound the two of them to their life paths? _No_, that traitorous voice answered. _Only him._

The chiming of the Crystarium bell was the first to interrupt their emotional moment. Even in the midst of her sorrow, her mind responded to the sound without a thought -- _it's been nearly a bell since he came to your door._ Her tears had long dried, as had his, she assumed, yet neither had dared disturb their long embrace. It could not last forever. With a long sigh, the Warrior braced herself against his damp robes and reared up on her knees, finally looking upwards at his face.

She scoffed, but smiled sweetly at him. "You look even worse than I did." Her hand rose to haphazardly brush out the disheveled mess that was his hair.

The Exarch regarded her with a sheepish smile of his own, tearstains wrinkling on his cheeks. "I suppose I will have to cover my face when I return to the Ocular."

"Don't you dare," she laughed, mustering up just enough strength to playfully nudge at his shoulder. With a sigh, she continued more carefully, "Thank you."'

"I should be thanking you." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "You will be alright, then?"

She nodded. "I will. Don't worry."

It was clear that he _would_, even as she reassured him a half-dozen more times. When he left, he reached for her hand, and she offered it without thinking.

"You are not alone," he murmured, squeezing her hand between both of his, "and at the very least, there is one person who cares, if you would allow him the honor."

Thank goodness her body had run out of tears, or she would have begun crying all over again right then and there. "The honor is mine, G'raha Tia."

The Exarch smiled, bowed, then left.

With a sigh, the Warrior leaned against the closed door, letting the cool wooden surface soothe the heat on her forehead. As she did, her gaze caught a glimpse of the small fabric-wrapped package her visitor had deposited by the door. Without thinking, she reached for it and tugged the crimson covering from its contents -- a bottle of wine. Attached to the outside was a note that read:

_ For when you return-- to enjoy together._

She clutched the bottle to her chest. For the hundredth time tonight, emotions began to swell in her chest, but these were far different. _Pride. Confidence. Hope._ She didn't bother wondering whether they were there for the "right" reasons. Instead, she clung to them, as she'd clung to her friend-turned-leader before.

_I will defeat the accursed Lightwarden,_ she thought, _and swallow that horrible Light._

_ Then, I'm going to get G'raha Tia drunk.  
_

She exhaled slowly.

_And_ then,_ I'm going to tell him _exactly_ how I feel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience on this one! Don't worry, things will get better for our poor WoL next chapter. : )


	4. Victories

That night, G'raha dreamt of _her_.

The scent of her hair. The softness of her fingertips. The pleading in her eyes. The sensation of her hand over his beating heart. The sound of her name on his lips, and his upon hers.

Yet, in his dreams, she left the honorific behind, and she was wearing _far_ less clothing than she had the night before, and her hands were brushing over _far_ more than just his chest, and--

He awoke in a cold sweat.

It had been a long time since he'd dreamed so vividly, years, maybe. It was certainly the first time he'd woken up and longed to go right back to sleep.

It was not to be, however. Today was _the_ day, and though he could not stray far from the Tower, there was plenty he could do to assist. Organize supply lines, give support to the worried citizens of the Crystarium, prepare for the backup plan that he knew they wouldn't need, but was necessary all the same. As he swung his legs out from over the sofa in his study that had recently become his permanent bed, unbidden thoughts swarmed through his mind.

_ You absolute fool, _he thought,_ what are you doing? You kissed the top of her head last night!_

_ No, I didn't, _came the response._ I merely pressed my face to her crown in a comforting matter, that's all._

_ Gods, you can't even admit it to yourself, can you?_

The exchange filled him with self-doubt. Had old age made him a coward, or had he always been this cowardly before?

_You're still him._

He'd been too much of a coward to tell her how he felt those years and years ago. Even when he knew he would never see her again, he still could not conquer the fears of _what if she rejects me, and I spend eternity remembering that pain?_

He really _was_ still him. He could lead a nation, sacrifice himself for a star, channel the energies of the ancients, yet he could not tell a single woman the depth of his longing for her.

There was no use lingering on those doubts, however. He could clear his mind by attending to his duties. And so, he dressed himself and wandered up the stairs to the Ocular, hoping he hadn't risen too late to see the Warrior's party off to their fateful destination.

He hadn't, thankfully, and after a few rounds of meaningful discussion, reiterating plans, and shared words of encouragement, the Scions and their fate-bound Warrior made for the doors of the Ocular. As she reached them, however, she paused, murmuring something to Alisaie as she passed. The other woman nodded, glanced to the Exarch, then let the doors close behind her.

Almost immediately, his throat tightened, and his heart began to race. She most certainly wanted to speak about what happened the night before, right? Had he offended her terribly? Perhaps he shouldn't have touched her at all, no matter how awful her condition. That was most certainly the case.

She turned towards him. The Warrior he'd seen in the meeting -- stiff and stone-faced -- was gone. In her place was... _her_. Her smile glowed with a warmth he could only barely remember. Her rigid features had gone soft, moving in gentle arcs as she walked towards him. There was a light in her eyes, a color to her cheeks, a spring in every step.

The Exarch was so entranced by her sudden transformation that he barely greeted her as she came close.

"I hope I'm not keeping you," she began, before rummaging around in one of her coat pockets. "I wanted to see you before we left. I know we don't have long."

Even her voice had taken on color. It brought a tinge of blush to his cheeks. "'Tis quite alright. Is there aught I can do to help you?"

She shook her head. "You did plenty for me last night. I merely wanted to thank you."

He smiled and mirrored the gesture. "You thanked me plenty yesterday."

"I could never thank you enough."

She took a step towards him. Instinct told him to take a step back, but he held his ground. From her coat pocket, she produced a bundle of fabric -- the same fabric that had wrapped up the bottle of wine he'd gifted her the night before. He took it in his free hand, the momentary confusion distracting him from his pounding heart. "You didn't have to return this so soon."

"What was I going to do with the fabric otherwise?" The Warrior gave him a shrug of her shoulders. "There's something else."

"What is it?"

She inhaled sharply. "Close your eyes."

His blush deepened. "Wh-what?"

"Just do it."

G'raha looked up from his feet and saw the color darkening on her own cheeks. Her embarrassment only served to quicken the beating of his own heart.

There was nothing else to do. Reluctantly, he squeezed his eyes shut. In the dark, he could feel the blood rushing to his face, making every inch of his skin tingle with anticipation. There was a rustling at his hand, something small being deposited into the bundle of fabric, then wrapped up haphazardly. Curious, he opened his eyes to see just what she was doing with it--

\--just in time for her lips to meet his forehead.

The Warrior darted backwards, quickly attempting to cover her embarrassment by brushing the hair from her face. "I told you to close your eyes," she groused.

His breath hitched in his throat._ Had she just--_

"I-- I don't have the words right now, so don't ask for them." She averted her gaze, one hand gripping at her armored forearm. Her teeth caught her bottom lip as she fidgeted. "I just-- didn't want to leave here with regrets."

Somehow, he managed to stammer out a coherent reply. "A-alright." _She just-- did she just--_

"Right, then." The Warrior huffed, recomposing herself with a shake of her head. When she looked back at him, she was wearing that old smile again, her eyes beaming with familiar, blessed excitement. "I'm off."

She turned to go. Each step she took from him shook him to the core, until eventually, the shock wore off, and he found the clarity to call her name.

The Warrior turned, bright eyes gleaming toward him. All the courage in the world could not have prepared him to speak his mind in that moment.

"Hurry back," he called instead.

She grinned, nodded, then disappeared.

Without warning, the Exarch's knees gave out from beneath him, and he crumpled to the floor. His hands rose to press against his burning-hot face.

_ She'd kissed him._

_She'd _kissed_ him!_

He gasped, suddenly remembering the attention she'd paid to the fabric in his hands. Quickly, he unfolded the bundle to reveal its contents -- a single wine cork. The markings gave no indication as to which bottle it had come from, and there was no note.

For some reason, it made him laugh. A new kind of joy was buzzing within him, filling him with a giddiness he had only known once before in his long, long life.

_No regrets, indeed, _he thought, clutching the cork in his fist._ Perhaps I should follow in your footsteps, brave Warrior._

* * *

Even as the half-slumbering Lightwarden reared up before her, obscuring the twinkling stars in the darkness above, the Warrior's glow illuminated the blessed night.

How long had it been since she'd felt this heat in her chest? That flame of passion, so strong when she was discovering new lands, new dangers, new version of herself-- when had it died? How had it grown so cold when a single spark was all it had needed to burst forth once more?

A puff of steam vanished before her as she exhaled, dashing forward with the rest of her companions to face the hulking menace head-on. A hundred sets of eyes, bulging through grotesque folds of opalescent skin, focused on her and the shadow she cast. The beast lunged forward, and she danced out of its path. As much as she had cursed the Mother Crystal's blessings before, here, she was grateful. First a violent thrust forward, then a swiped claw. A burst of fire to her left as twisted aether coalesced in the grip of its stare.

How was it that she was able to move with such clarity and grace? Before, the mere prospect of swallowing the beast's Light had left her rigid with fear, but now, even with the beast and that horrid mass of aether staring her in the face, she felt determination. Passion. Hells, she _wanted_ to beat the living daylights out of the thing. She couldn't _wait_ to watch this disgusting beast fall, dissolve into Light, and give unto her the Light. It would be _terrible_, but _oh_, wouldn't it be _wonderful_.

There was no doubt in her mind. She would do it. She would save them all. Not because the star needed her, not because the people would die without her, not because her accursed fate demanded it of her. She would do it for _herself_.

_ She would do it for him._

And in the end, it didn't matter who or what she was doing it for. The Scions had their reasons; gods, she should have known Thancred was doing it for _her_ since the damn beginning of this journey. No one was demanding that she fight for any particular reason. She just needed to fight, that was all. Luckily for everyone else, she was very, very good at that.

This battle would not be easily won, however. The beast was massive, towering dozens of fulms above her and her beleaguered companions. One missed cue, one stumbled step, and their lives were forfeit. Not only that, but it had stamina -- no matter how they hacked, slashed, and pummeled away at the damn thing, it didn't seem to grow any weaker. In fact, it seemed to grow _stronger_.

The beast's tactics grew erratic. One deviation from the pattern, a feint, and three of the Scions went tumbling to the ground. Sweat began to trickle down the back of her neck. She’d fought tough battles before, and this was no different—or so she thought, until yet another feint struck down yet another of her companions.

_ We’re so close,_ she thought, gasping as an unexpected swing of the beast’s tail came ilms from crushing her flat. _If I can turn the tide with an attack—_

Her thought was cut short as a deafening shriek pierced her eardrums. She squeezed her eyes shut for a split second, and that was all it took. Another second later, and the Warrior, too, was sent skittering across the rocky surface of the would-be arena, skin tearing and bruising from the impact alone.

There was no time to think about how it had happened, she had to get up, stand up, _do something_ before all was lost. Panting, she planted her left hand on the ground to push herself upwards, but the arm folded _inwards_ on itself, and soon, she was back on the ground, gritting her teeth through pain that she should have been damn well used to by now. She had to stand up, she had to keep fighting, but her strength was gone. Whether it was the pain or some errant effect the beast had placed on her, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was there was nothing she could do, not alone.

The healing didn’t come. The Echo gave her no warning. Panicking, she turned her fading, teary gaze upwards to the beast, pleading a silent prayer to the being she had cursed so fervently the night before._ I can’t fail. Not here, not when he’s waiting for me!_

The reawakening Lightwarden raised one terrible clawed appendage, then brought it down upon her.

_ “No!”_

The Warrior barely glimpsed the flurry of movement that rushed between her and the aberration of Light. One shadow was soon joined by another, then another, and the attack was repelled. There was a flash of light, a burst of heat, and someone shouting about a crystal. As her thoughts slowed to a crawl, she barely managed to piece the situation together.

_ They’re saving me._

Someone laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and the sweet throb of healing magicks coursed through her core. _Sleep_, they willed. _Rest_.

She was all too eager to comply.

* * *

The Warrior awoke from a dreamless sleep to the soft throbbing of her heartbeat against tightly-wound bandages. An all-too-familiar sensation, she thought, exhaling softly. Her eyes felt heavy, as did every muscle in her body—the side effects of excessive healing, yet another unfortunately familiar sensation. She supposed that meant she’d be resting it off for the better part of a few days.

With another sigh, she forced herself to stir, slowly stretching out in the bed she’d been deposited into. Soft sheets, and the distinct smell of lavender— so they’d brought her back to the Crystarium. Good.

Before she could crack open an eye, there was a sharp rustling by her side, and a pair of dainty hands grabbed for the one lying outside of the sheets.

“You’ve awoken!”

The Warrior cocked her head to the side and opened her eyes, just as Alisaie leaned in close.

“Ah!” They gasped in unison. The smaller Elezen followed her reaction with a quiet smirk, then squeezed the Warrior’s hand. “And here I thought you would be asleep for a few bells more.”

The Warrior offered her a weak smile and a wiggle of her fingers. “Can’t be found sleeping on the job.” She croaked. An instant later, the Scion was shoving a glass of water in her direction, which she eagerly accepted. The affections were more than welcome. How long _had_ it been since she’d spent some quality time with Alisaie, anyway? They’d been so close in the Source. Had the darkness that had come over her driven them apart? No matter, now. She wasn’t alone, not anymore, and the fact that Alisaie was there only proved it.

The darkness visible through the solitary window drew out another sigh from the Warrior. It hadn’t been a dream, then; she truly had been saved. “Thank you,” she murmured.

The Elezen looked confused for a moment, before shaking her head and patting her companion’s hand. “T’was the least we could do. I’m just glad we were able to find a solution that didn’t involve your untimely sacrifice. I know of quite a few people who would be terribly inconvenienced if you were to go and disappear on us.”

That drew a chuckle from the Warrior. “I think I have an idea.”

There was a pointed pause. “Shall I call for them—or him?”

The two women exchanged a knowing look. Eventually, the Warrior let out a dramatic sigh, then shook her head.

“Not yet. I’m enjoying my time here with you.” She let out a grunt as she turned herself over to better face her companion. “Have I ever told you about how I met the Exarch?”

“I believe you’ve mentioned it in passing, but that phrasing suggests there is far more to the story than you have let on.”

The Warrior grinned. “Let me tell you, then."

* * *

The Exarch assumed that his rapid transformation into worrywart was merely the effects of his old age. After all, he had seen all manner of injury, mishap, and sickness lead even the healthiest of men into the dark of eternal night with nary a warning. Flesh was fragile, no matter whose flesh it happened to be. It should not have surprised him, then, that he worried for the Warrior, despite the light nature of her wounds and the fact that she was the _Warrior of Darkness._

At the very least, he was good at being patient. His younger self was likely to have stormed into the infirmary and demanded to know the exact details of the situation, but centuries of _waiting_ had tempered that particular facet of his personality. So he watched from afar as the party returned, injured comrades in tow, and waited quietly for the official missive to be sent his way.

Try as he may to appear composed, he was sure he'd given away the overwhelming relief that had washed over him upon hearing that she was quite alright. Better than alright, actually; thanks to a last-minute improvisation, the Light she dreaded so powerfully had been stored in another non-sentient vessel. Imagining the relief she must have felt upon realizing she had escaped that fate only put him even more at ease. Of all the souls across all the stars, she was most deserving of a reprieve from duty.

It was only when he received word that she'd awoken that he made his way through the Crystarium towards the hospital, pausing only briefly here or there to reassure the concerned citizenry. It seemed he was not the only one who'd taken quite a liking to the Warrior.

He pursed his lips at that thought. It was more than that for him, and while he'd made the decision to act upon those desires, he was still unsure exactly how to do so. She must feel the same way, right? Else, she wouldn't have done that. But of course, there was always the chance he was wrong, and blowing things completely out of proportion, and setting himself up for failure, and--

The Exarch shook his head, hoping the motion alone would clear the color from his cheeks. Members of the Scions would be there with her. Now was not the time to be thinking of those regrets she'd mentioned before. With a sigh, he cleared his mind, then pushed open the door to the infirmary. 

Immediately, he was greeted with a burst of laughter, one that only faded slightly as the room's occupants became aware of his presence. A half-dozen pairs of eyes followed one after another--_Alisaie, Urianger, Y'shtola_\-- and the nurse on duty, a young Mystel woman whose name he could not quite place. Finally, the lone patient turned her attention to him. The gentle smile on her face widened into a grin, her eyes opening with excitement, then narrowing with joy. Though she had not swallowed any of the Light, she beamed more radiantly than the all-present sun.

His heart leapt into his throat, and his vision blurred for but a moment.

_ How long has it been since I have seen her smile like that?_

"Exarch!" The Warrior chimed, waving from the bed, though she was no more than ten fulms away. "I was wondering when you could come to visit."

G'raha shook off his initial reaction and replaced it with a more subdued and appropriate smile. "I did not want to intrude upon your rest."

"You wouldn't have been the first." She joked, shooting a knowing look at Alisaie, who chuckled in return. "'Tis good to see you, anyroad."

"I could say the same. It has been quite some while since I have seen you at such ease."

"It seems she just needed to be knocked around a bit," Y'shtola quipped from the far wall. G'raha couldn't tell if her attitude was merely caused by his presence, or if it was a facet of her personality. "I know a few aetherometers that require the same amount of abuse to be returned to form and function."

The Warrior turned her look toward the Mystel--_Miqo'te._ "You'd better not be getting any strange ideas. I think I've had enough of being knocked about for a long time."

For some reason, the friendly exchange made the Exarch feel awkward. Perhaps he was intruding upon an important moment. There would be time to talk later. So, with a quiet sigh, he took a small step back towards the door and awaited a pause in the conversation.

"Oh!" The Warrior gasped, her head snapping in his direction. "My apologies, I didn't mean to ignore you!"

"'Tis quite alright," he smiled, shaking his head. "We can discuss things at length later, when you have fully healed."

"Or we could discuss things later this evening?" She suggested. "I believe you owe me a nightly chat?"

Every pair of eyes in the room suddenly narrowed in on the Exarch. He gulped. One pair in particular, the Mystel nurse, was especially hostile. Luckily, he read that message loud and clear.

"I believe the medical staff would box my ears if I attempted to release you from their care prematurely," he chuckled.

"Tomorrow evening, then?" The Warrior glanced back towards the nurse, who responded with a hesitant nod. It was then that she seemed to notice the suspicious glances on the rest of the Scion's faces-- and the blush and embarrassment on the Exarch's. She snorted, then began chuckling quietly. The rest of the small crowd soon joined her. Seemed she was _enjoying_ making a fool out of him.

Strangely, though, he found he didn't mind. After all, if that was all it took to bring that smile to her lips, he would gladly welcome a bit of fleeting embarrassment. 

* * *

The Warrior ignored the aching pain in her knees as she climbed the steps to the Exarch's Ocular two at a time. If anyone knew she was still healing up, they'd send her straight back to her bed in the infirmary, and she wasn't about to let that happen. Not now. Not when she'd finally mustered up the resolve to tell him how she felt.

Sure, she'd spouted off that nonsense about having "no regrets", and was certainly feeling far more courageous than she had before their nightly talks, but that niggling anxiety was still too strong to shake completely. It made her laugh, really. Of all the enemies and disasters she had survived, this encounter was the one that made her fear for her life.

No turning back now, though. Whether she was ready or not, it was going to happen. She'd sealed her fate with that kiss.

The guard at the door greeted her with a salute, then leaned for the handle. "Resuming your nightly discussions, milady?"

She grinned at the tall Elven man and nodded, giving the bottle of wine in the crook of her arm a shrug. "'Tis time for a celebration of sorts."

"You are well-deserving of one, if all I have heard is true." The man chuckled, pulling open one large door.

Nodding, the Warrior stepped forward as if to pass through, then paused. She turned back to the guard with a sheepish smile and asked, "Wish me luck?"

He gave her a quizzical look. A moment later, he gasped out an "oh!" and offered a smile and a "good luck, milady."

"Thank you." With that, she strode into the Ocular and let the Elf shut the door behind her. The exchange had bolstered her resolve, if only a little -- that, and it ensured that if she did _not_ follow through, there would be plenty of false rumors for her to answer to the following day. The thought didn't bother her as much as it amused her. How would he react to them, especially after what she was planning on doing this evening?

She followed the usual path through the winding passageways of the Tower, and soon, she had arrived at her fateful destination. She knocked on the door without a second thought.

It opened almost immediately. He must have been waiting. A wide grin came to her lips before he was even in sight, and luckily, his expression matched.

She lifted the bottle of wine with one hand. "A promise is a promise, yes?"

He made a sweeping gesture and stepped back with the door. "I have never known you to break one before."

With a quiet snicker, she made her way inside, paying little attention to the rearranged stacks of books and neatly-dusted surfaces. "I trust you have glasses?"

G'raha was far ahead of her, as he was already bringing them to the side table by the sofa. "Your trust is well-placed."

"I would hope so." The Warrior opened her mouth to pull the cork out with her teeth, but paused when he brandished a corkscrew at her. She accepted it with a sigh and uncorked the bottle like a civilized being. Soon, the glasses were full, and after gently clinking hers to his, she slumped down onto the sofa and downed half of it in one go.

"I hope you realize I don't intend for this to be a competition," he laughed, taking a seat a modest distance from her. "And I certainly wouldn't want to have to carry you back to the Pendants."

The Warrior leaned back and smirked. "I could always sleep here on the sofa again."

"And interrupt my studies with your snoring?" When she raised an eyebrow, he continued, "I jest. I have not heard you snore in _centuries_."

"Perhaps you'll soon have the opportunity." With that, she closed her eyes and downed the rest of her wine -- or tried to; she only got about a quarter down before she was forced to pull the glass from her lips. Liquid courage could only get her so far, and it would all be for naught if she were too intoxicated to carry out her plan.

"A fate I would not wish upon my greatest enemies," he laughed, finally taking a drink from his own glass.

His companion set her wine to the side and stretched her arms upwards, a crafty ploy that allowed her to rest her arms across the back of the sofa. She could do this. All she needed to do was stop bantering and start getting serious.

That wasn't about to happen so suddenly, however. "You weren't there. Perhaps that is how I felled the slumbering Lightwarden."

"Or perhaps _that_ is why it injured you so gravely. A desperate attempt to rid itself of your sonorous assault." G'raha laughed, leaning back and setting his barely-touched glass to the side table. "To think your slumber could be used as a weapon-- you are truly formidable."

"Oh, I would say _one_ of us is much more experienced in the art of slumber." She chuckled. 

"Of that, I am guilty." He took a deep breath, then let it out with a sigh. "All joking aside, I am glad you have returned safely, and no worse for wear."

The Warrior found herself blushing as he quickly turned the conversation in a more serious discussion. That was what _she_ was trying to do, Twelve damn him! She tore her eyes from him and chuckled sheepishly. "A-as am I," she sputtered. Calm. She took a breath and continued. "To tell the truth, it was no easy task. I was lucky my companions were there to shield me when I fell."

"Lucky indeed." His smile softened. "I regret that I could not be there to aid them and protect you."

She sat forward, shaking her head. "You shouldn't. Your place is here, watching after the people of the Crystarium. I would never have asked you to venture so far from the Tower, just on the off chance your weakened abilities might have been of some use."

He pursed his lips. "This I know, but-- I do long to be of more service to you."

"You've done plenty, G'raha."

His cheeks darkened, which brought even more color to hers. "You are kind to say that, but I owe you a great debt. Had you perished in circumstances I could have prevented, then I would be filled with regr--" He swallowed. "Regrets."

The word pulled forth the memory of what she'd said and done to him in the Ocular. The embarrassment forced an awkward chuckle out of her, but G'raha seemed more inclined to silence. In fact, he had almost completely turned away from her, apparently in an attempt to hide the growing blush on his face.

This was it. This was the moment she was waiting for.

Inhaling sharply, the Warrior leaned towards him, sliding her arm from the back of the sofa to grasp at his rigid shoulder. "G'raha, I--"

The Miqo'te man spun back towards her, too fast for her to pull away. In a split second, his face was mere inches from hers, bright red and sporting a flustered expression. He gasped and shrunk backwards.

She did not. Her resolve was stalwart, and it would not allow her to pull away. Unfortunately, the sudden proximity had sent her heart racing, and the words she'd practiced over and over in her mind were inexplicably gone. She gulped and clenched her jaw. As she breathed, she took in his scent, warm and soft and full of memories, and the growing urge within her soon became too much to bear.

"Is-- is aught--"

"Can I kiss you?"

The words came faster than she was able to stop them.

His jaw fell open. "Wh-what?"

Panic flooded her veins. Without a second thought, she squeezed her eyes shut, then kissed him anyway.

He let out a muffled grunt of surprise as she pressed his lips firmly to his. A moment later, he was pulling--no, _falling_ away, sliding down the back of the sofa to lie face-up on the plush cushions. The Warrior seized the moment to follow after him, straddling his heaving chest with her arms. Her pelvis shifted to rest against his half-angled hip. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric. Below, G'raha's mouth worked wordlessly, panic apparent in his expression, color flooding his cheeks, eyes focused on hers.

A lock of her hair slipped from her ear, brushing against his flesh-and-blood cheek. He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, breaking the spell. Suddenly, she was too aware of exactly what she was doing. Her resolve wavered. With a sharp gasp, she pulled backwards--

\--only for his hand to grasp her shoulder, stopping her entirely.

He swallowed, pursing his lips. His eyes narrowed with unsure determination.

_ Gods be good,_ she thought,_ I was right._

The Warrior leaned in, slowly, testing the waters. When he tilted his chin upwards, she discarded her hesitation and closed the gap between their lips.

She shut her eyes, savoring the sensations she had imagined for countless nights. He inhaled slowly, his other hand rising to mirror the other, smoothing over her arms, then her shoulders, the nape of her neck, then her jaw and cheeks. She parted her lips slightly, and he followed immediately, matching her gentle motions with perfect rhythm. Her fingers slid over his chest to cup his cheeks, then tangle in the roots of his hair, her short nails just barely teasing at the base of his ears. He let out the slightest shiver at the sensation, which drew a quiet, satisfied purr from her throat.

Fearing what she may do if she allowed it to continue much further, the Warrior pried herself from his mouth with a gentle sigh. Her eyes fluttered open. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but she surely hadn't been expecting him to cry.

"A-are you alright?" She stammered.

He nodded vigorously, pulling a hand from her shoulder to frantically wipe the tears from his cheeks. Chuckling quietly, she lifted her head to press a kiss to his forehead, then slid downwards to rest upon his chest. Even through the many-layered robe, she could feel his heart pounding.

G'raha sniffled quietly, then set his crystalline hand atop her head. It took a moment, but soon, his fingers were gently stroking her hair. As his pulse began to slow and his tension ebbed, the Warrior finally began to feel her anxiety turn to well-deserved elation. This was really happening. It was almost enough to make her cry, too.

"...how long?"

When he finally spoke, it was with a whisper.

"Hmm?" She answered, lips brushing against his chest.

"How long-- have you..."

She exhaled a chuckle. "If I told you, you might cry again." Her hands slid downwards to wrap around his waist. "...not as long as you, I'm afraid."

The Seeker shifted beneath her as she moved, pulling her into a tighter embrace. She felt him take a shuddering breath as another quiet sob wracked his form.

"It was for _you_." He murmured. "It-- was for everyone, but it was all for _you_."

"I know." A moment later, she added, "I would have done the same for you."

When she felt him bite back another sob, she raised her head to meet his gaze. His eyes were shut, and his teeth were biting down into his lip in an apparent attempt to keep himself from unraveling completely. Heartbreaking, yes, but oh, so damn adorable.

The Warrior shuffled upwards to press another kiss to his forehead. He sniffled, then let his hands drift lower, his fingers brushing against the small of her back. "You know," she chuckled quietly, "if I'd known you would react like this, perhaps I should have confessed to you more publicly."

G'raha inhaled sharply, tilting his head back to meet her gaze with an frantic, tear-stained expression. "Y-you wouldn't!"

His reaction turned her chuckle into laughter. In the midst of it, he reached for her cheeks with both hands and brought her lips to his. This time, the kiss was far less chaste, his indignation apparent in the force of his movements and the beckoning of his tongue. She deepened it further, and he soon fell submissive to her own passions. When the quietest moan thrummed in his throat, she forced herself to pull backwards, though she kept her lips on his as she spoke.

"Careful," she murmured. "If you intend to _start_ something, then I may find myself unable to stop."

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched shut. Beneath her, she felt him tremble. "Perhaps you shouldn't." He whispered against her lips. "Perhaps-- perhaps we _should_."

The implication brought a wicked grin to her features. "You know, I had intended this evening to be a reward for my efforts." His fingers twitched against her neck. Gods, he was eager. "What would you offer me, then?"

He exhaled. Hesitantly, he whispered, "Speak and it is yours."

The Warrior grinned, then spoke his name against his lips.

As she resumed their kiss, and her hands drifted lower, all traces of the dark emotions that had once plagued her began to fade and disappear. There was no need for them now. No matter what her cursed fate had in store for her, she would endure it for this. For _him_. As long as _he_ was here, waiting for her, she could topple any foe. She could save them _all._

There was no doubt in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! It took me a bit to find the time/headspace to work through my outline, and there are a few parts I'm not 100% happy with, but I'm just glad it made if out of me. I haven't written 'fanfiction' in years, but reading all the lovely works in the XIV tag here have given me the courage to share again. I hope you enjoyed reading this, at least in some part!
> 
> Originally I'd planned a 5th chapter for the sexual content, but I think things wrap up pretty nicely here. That's not to say there won't be a continuation work that's pwp... Please Look Forward To It.


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